A Dog
by annicaspoons
Summary: "Are you thinking about how you wish your allies from the Justice League were here?" "No. I'm thinking about a dog." Post-Depths. Deathstroke knows - their cover is blown. Minor Wally/Artemis.


**Title:** A dog  
**Author:** annicaspoon  
**Characters:** Artemis, Slade/Deathstroke, Wally (some Wally/Artemis)  
**Rating:** T  
**Words:** 1,500  
**Summary:** "Are you thinking about how you wish your allies from the Justice League were here?" "No. I'm thinking about a dog."  
**Author's Notes:** Whoops…*shrugs* (IM JUST REALLY TERRIFIED WITH DEATHSTROKE COMING IN ON THE SHOW OKAY?)

Also this is kinda dumb - my bad.

~o~

It's probably not the worst pain she's been through, but it's definitely the one that feels the most like a kick to the chest. Ollie always told her that an archer been shot with their own arrow was the worst kind of betrayal. The arrow that you guide; the bow that you restring and clean and take care of and use as your primary weapon – your ally. To have them turned against you, to have a madman pick up her crossbow as she's trying to free herself from the binds that are holding her down into this chair, and to have him point it towards her and release the trigger – not even looking, not even caring what part of her body he hits – the arrow flying so hard and fast in the short distance as it pushes straight through her shoulder, piercing skin and bone until the tip of it is pointing out from the top of her shoulder blade.

Deathstroke steps forward, booted feet crunching over the remains of the glamour charm; ripped from her neck and stamped on as soon as he had tied her down. Artemis was almost hoping that it'd explode underneath his feet as he shattered it, but instead the golden charm had simply flashed and broken, the pieces of the gleaming stone growing dull. He reaches out and pushes down on the fletched end of the arrow he shot, releasing it to twang back into place, swinging up and down until it's reached its original centre. Artemis' shoulder is burning, screaming for a release, but she doesn't flinch, doesn't cry out – but continues to stare hard at the mercenary.

"They weren't joking when they said that the women of the Crock family were strong." Slade's voice is strong, cold, calm, and he regards her with an interested expression. His mask has been pulled off and thrown onto the dusty floor next to her 'Tigress' mask, and he stares down at her with a single, cold and dead blue eye. She holds his gaze until he turns, walking to the table – scattered with assorted weapons – and picking up his favoured sword. "So," he mutters, knowing that she can still hear every word, "thinking about how you wish your allies with Justice League were here?"

"No. Thinking about a dog." Slade stops inspecting his sword and glances towards her with an intrigued expression. "A white pitbull," Artemis adds, and the mercenary's attention goes back to his sword.

It's insane and at a completely inappropriate time, but it's true. Artemis knows that she should be trying to figure out a way to tell Nightwing that she and Kaldur have both been compromised, or she should be focusing her attention on discovering what Deathstroke has done to Kaldur, and where, but instead she's thinking about the smell of wet fur and animal crap, and the influx of yips and meows and bird call. She's remembering the pet shop she had found herself walking into on that Tuesday afternoon while she waited for Wally to pick up something to eat in the food court; the whines of the little girl at the entrance as she begged her mum to "_please_ just let me have a kitten. I'll look after it, I promise!" Artemis remembers crossing over the dog enclosures – out of curiosity, nothing else – and the little white puppy that sprung up as soon as it saw her and scrabbled over it's sleeping brothers and sisters towards her, bumping it's nose on the glass and falling back onto its bum with a surprised whine.

Apparently she had been watching the little dog for quite a while, as it pawed against the glass and tumbled about the enclosure; at one point, falling into the water bowl and barking in surprise, wet and funny-looking as it tried to crawl back out.

"I know you don't like cats, but I never knew you were such a softie when it came to puppies." She jumped and whirled her head around to face Wally, who was smirking at her, clearly relishing in the new material he had to tease her with. She rolled her eyes and picked up a chip from the bucket in his hands, ignoring his whine of protest, and turned back to watch the puppy as it rolled around in the straw, trying in vain to get the wetness off him.

"I want a dog," Artemis said simply, popping the chip into her mouth. "I want _that_ dog." She glanced at Wally, who's smirk had disappeared and was looking at the tumbling puppy in thought. "I don't think the apartment's big enough for a dog," he murmured slowly.

"It's a pitbull. They don't grow to be that large."

"Does the landlord even-?"

"Yes. She does."

Wally frowns and turns his face towards Artemis in suspicion. "Have you been planning this for a while?" Artemis rolled her eyes.

"No," she said, "but unlike you, I actually read through all the contract rules. She allows pets."

Wally sighed. "Okay, but…" he cut off as his gaze fell back onto the puppy, now dirty and looking up at him in curiosity with it's head cocked to the side. "Please tell him to stop looking at me like that," Wally muttered. He continued to play a staring game with the small dog until he finally groaned. "I better not be the one that's dumped with exercising him," he muttered, and Artemis planted a kiss on his cheek.

"You're kind of the best, you know that?" She told him, already owing the puppy a pat and "good boy".

"Oh, and you should also say that more."

-o-

"I hope this dog isn't waiting for you to feed it," Slade says, flinging her back into reality; the burning pain in her shoulder and the strong ropes around her limbs, "because it's going to starve."

Artemis glares at him with a rising, irrational anger. "What have you done with Kaldur?" she hisses, and Slade walks over with a newly sharpened sword pointing towards her throat.

"Don't worry, I haven't hurt him." The cold blade touches on her skin, and she tries to prevent herself from shivering against it. "I'm going to allow Black Manta that pleasure.

"You almost had me fooled," he continues. "Almost. I was always suspicious of Aqualad; one can never just go from being a hero to a villain. Never completely.

"But you - you I didn't suspect. After all, 'Artemis Crock' is dead." Artemis continues to glare at him, wishing she could pounce up and attack him. "You were doing so well," Slade says, "but then, you slipped."

Artemis bites on her tongue. She knows exactly what he's talking about. It was only a breath, only the smallest flinch, but she should've known that Deathstroke would've noticed it. He notices _everything_.

"I thought it was strange that you would be bothered by my attempt to kill the young Robin," the sword pushes down harder against her neck, "but after I noticed that, it wasn't too difficult to put two and two together."

Artemis stains against the ropes. "So, are you going to kill me already? Or are you going to just keep talking."

"I haven't decided yet." The sword is moved away from her throat and Artemis looks up at him warily. "Like I said, Artemis Crock is already dead, so there's really no point in keeping you around, but…"

Artemis grits her teeth. "But. What?"

"But maybe I want to keep you around for a little while longer." He leans forward, and Artemis can smell the odour of sweat and smoke. His one eye narrows as it meets hers. "Maybe I feel like keeping you alive, so when we find your little team, when the world is ending, you'll have to watch as we torture them until they're almost at the end, and then kill them. And you'll have to watch each and every one of them die."

Screw the sword in his hands, screw the ropes around her wrists and ankles and the arrow in her shoulder. She rails against her bindings, trying to escape so she can attack this deadened man. She pushes against the chair, ignoring her shoulder that's screaming out in protest, but it's all to know avail. Slade smiles slightly, relishing in his victory of setting her off, and walks back over to the table to put on his mask. "I'm still deciding though," he says, fixing the fabric over his head. "Either I kill you, or kill everyone else in front of you."

"Better decide quick then," Artemis gasps, having given up on trying to get free.

"No…I think I'll take my time." Deathstroke sheathes his sword and stocks himself up with all his other weapons, turning to leave the room. "At least you have your little dog to think about," he says, before opening the door and walking through it, closing it back shut to leave her in complete darkness.

nt here...


End file.
